The Blue Mask
by mingingbent
Summary: Takes place after Retribution episode. Did Archie Kennedy really die or was it all a ruse? Enter meddling old fools, spies, henchmen and sailors and who could forget Old Boney...eh!
1. In the Interim – Retribution

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anyone except those of mine own invention. I claim the genius of the plot, but that's all. I do not own Hornblower, though sometimes I'd like to kidnap Archie for awhile. I do not own Lou Reed or his imaginative genius either.

Cheers and enjoy. MB.

**A/N**: The song playing throughout this is _The Blue Mask_ by Lou Reed.

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The Blue Mask

By

_mingingbent_

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In the Interim – **Retribution**

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"I will not say: do not weep

For not all tears are an evil."

- _Gandalf_, **JRR Tolkien**

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The small cemetery in Kingston, Jamaica was the sole settlement in all the West Indies that would give a Christian his or her rightful burial. It was small, just a mere stone structure; the wooden and thatched roof hung limply someone's attempt of a steeple. A few figures in black accompanied by the baneful wooden coffin gathered in the small cemetery in back; a hollowed, broken down white picket fence place, with cracked stones and dead grass.

It was a brisk, cold day for Kingston the weather emanating the foul, sorrowful mood of the funeral below it. Dark waves clashed with dark waters just off the coast, and it looked as if a large storm front was moving in ready to pour down its misery from the heavens.

There was a thin, tall, beanstalk of a man wrapped tightly in a worn, dark greatcoat. He stood placidly, a mere twig next to the others (the gravedigger's and the chaplain) and when he looked to the heavens, it seemed in the right grey light he nodded his head, and he agreed.

_They tied his arms behind his back  
To teach him how to swim…_

In his deep pockets there sat heavily a crumpled letter, one he would rather never read again.

_**To Mr. Hornblower, **_

_**We request your presence as the Commander of H.M.S Retribution…**_

He always stopped reading after that; he had no stomach for certain memories now. The only haunted him.

_They put blood in his coffee  
And milk in his gin…  
_

The chaplain had finished his little part, the young man scowled at that. They couldn't even give him a proper burial – a sea burial. No, a traitor to the king, his majesty would be given all the courts could afford, a rough plot in the sullen earth, on an island, far from home. Forever his body would be laid to rest in an unmarked grave in a small ruddy church in Kingston. The man bit his cheek to keep himself of saying something outloud. The ceremony now finished, the man turned not wanting to see the rest. Watching the waves break out on the rocks nearby, a part of him flared up at the thought. No more laughs and smiles the animated face was dead within that oaken box. He would be alone once more.

_They stood over the soldier  
In the midst of the squalor  
There was war in his body  
And it caused his brain to holler…_

And in those fleeting minutes to follow, the sea lapping up the shore, he though of those last brief, minutes and with one final tear caved in to grief.


	2. Chapter One – Politics

Sorry for not updating sooner, comps here in Spain are royally pissing me off. _MB_.

**Sarita04: **YAY...my first reviewer!Much love for that. I hope this chapter gives you more to think about.

**Old Fiat**: Kennedy was indeed the best character ever created...why did he half to die...sniffle sniffle... Yeah the first part was just a little thing to get my juices flowing showing how much Horatio was saddened by the whole charade. Things will start moving pronto. Thankies for the review.

**Ellennar:** Thankies for the review...the comps aren't cooperating so I've not been able to update. Here's your more...

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**A/N:** Sorry this such a short chapter, the next is much longer and indepth except I can't seem to get it to upload. Ah wel...le sigh...

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anyone except those of mine own invention. I claim the genius of the plot, but that's all. I do not own Hornblower, though sometimes I'd like to kidnap Archie for awhile. Cheers and enjoy. MB.

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The Blue Mask

By

_mingingbent_

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Chapter One – **Politics**

Politics, n. Strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles.

**- **_The Devil's Dictionary_, **Ambrose Bierce**

"Politics is the art of looking for trouble…"

**- Ernest Benn**

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Priscilla Evans was a striking woman – she wasn't per say exquisite her feature just slightly too sharp for that. But she had an appealing, charming look that drew people to her like moths to a flame, and in this case the flame was very, very hot – scalding to the touch in one got too close without mits on. Her dark, mahogany hair was cut just short of her shoulders (she refused to wear a wig) and curled lazily down her back and around her slender, triangular face. Equally as deep, her hazel flecked eyes peered out sharply from a fine boned face that spoke of good breeding. On the bridge of a slightly off centered nose was a smattering of freckles, and although her skin was pale it was slightly more tanned and honey-golden than such ladies of fashion liked. But what intrigued most about Miss Evans was the way she carried herself – like a queen – with a style and grace that commanded at such times that every eye be pinned to her and others invisibility. 

At the present moment, Priscilla Evans sat half-perched (very un-ladylike) on the edge of a table listening to the man sitting across from her at his wide desk. He was hiding behind his morning paper and Priscilla thought that he well should be.

"Hmm…yes…nice cover dear, one of your best…" It seemed to Priscilla that he was hiding behind his words as well.

"We have picked up another lad, what with the recent news from LaGire. Evans I thought you'd appreciate knowing, he's our new pard."

"Thanks for informing me Chief before scaring the poor devil to death becomes my new pastime. I suppose you want me to fill him in on everything. I suppose I could give him to Cam or Rori for orientation." With barely concealed anger, she retorted.

"I am afraid this time it is different and try to be more compassionate in the future. Cam and Rori, unfortunately are occupied at this present time. So I have turned him over to you."

"WHAT!"

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Priscilla Evans was angry, no she was more than angry. He knew she worked alone. He knew she didn't want a partner, she was just fine covering her own ass. So, she fumed on her way back to Cambridge House, with his introduction paper in her hands.

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Archibald Kennedy, known mostly to his friends as Archie woke up the most dreadful headache. For some absurd reason he couldn't remember anything, well that was until he opened his eyes. 

He was in a bed, in a small white-washed room. His entire torso was covered in bandages – then he remember along with the pain, the Renown, the Captain falling, Horatio, the court-martial, his testimony, death. But he reasoned he was in too much pain to be dead.

Before he could squander his thoughts on his current predicament, a young lad of maybe ten came scuttling in.

"Boy-" Archie spoke, his voice hoarse from disuse.

_How long have I been out? _

"Yes, sir?" The boy came up to him.

"Where am I?"

"Tulane sir."

"Where?"

The boy looked confused, then his eyes sparked as he remember something.

"Ima supposed to give you this, sir."

The boy handed Archie a letter before disappearing.

Archie carefully broke the seal, which he didn't recognize, and opened the letter.

_Dear Mr. Archibald Kennedy,_

_I have been apprised as to your current predicament and are in need of your services. There will be a ship **The Rover**, to come receive you in due time. Please_ _meet Mr. Sidehouse at the Southhead Docks when you arrive. You will be informed of what I need then._

_Sincerely,_

_The Chief_

Archie wondered who this Chief was as he surrender into sleep.

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Sorry for the utter shortyness of this chapter I'll try to get the next one posted soon. Oh and please review, it bringith forth much joyful celebration.

cheers MB


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